


Roadhog's Ride

by Typewriter_Daydreams



Series: Fire in the Heart [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typewriter_Daydreams/pseuds/Typewriter_Daydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy is on a mission with Overwatch to escort a team of scientists into the remains of Australian's ruined Omnium. But the Outback is a dangerous place and Mercy soon finds herself separated from the others. Cornered by a terrifyingly large Junker calling himself Roadhog, Mercy must put her trust in him in order to survive the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The shattered remains of the omnium dominated the landscape. The enormous jagged metal protrusions mixed with the ruddy rocks of the Australian outback to create an almost alien landscape. It was hard for Dr. Ziegler to believe such a place existed on earth, it was so vastly different from the misty green of her native Switzerland. It was hard for her to believe that anyone could call this place home and she wondered idly why the residents of the outback couldn't just have shared such a large area with the omnics instead of resorting to violence. But that was a question for the history books now. What was done, was done and Overwatch had to move quickly if they wanted to retrieve the vital information housed within the now defunct omnium.

The mobile research facility began to make a slow decent. A voice beside her stirred Mercy from her thoughts.

“Angela, why are we touching down here? Isn't our assignment inside the omnium core?”

Turning to the woman beside her, Dr. Ziegler gently said, “It's Mercy, Tracer. We have to remember to use our field names out here. You don't want to compromise your civilian life.”

“Of course,” Tracer replied with a shy blush. “I'm still getting used to the way things are run here.”

“To answer your question, there's been some... activity in the area recently. Intel says there's a ruthless gang wandering the wreckage calling themselves Junkers. So far they've shown hostility towards us and our efforts to help. We have to be careful.”

Tracer dropped her eyes to the holographic notepad in her hands. She read and re-read the mission brief, but no where in it did it mention hostile forces or the possibility of combat. Fighting the omincs had been scary, but with Mercy by her side everything had turned out alright. However the idea of fighting against humans was... distressing to say the least.

Eventually Tracer worked up her nerve to speak again.

“I don't see you carry a blaster often,” she said as her thoughts took a darker turn.

Mercy glanced down to the weapon holstered at her hip. She had no intention of using it, and just feeling its weight on her belt made her lip curl in disdain.

“You know I don't condone violence.”

“It looks like we've brought an army with us. Seems a little over-kill for a reconnaissance mission.”

Mercy could see the concern in Tracer's eyes, hear it in her hurried words. She was fishing, looking for reassurance. For some hope to cling to. She put a hand on the rookie's shoulder reassuringly. “I know you're new here. Some anxiety is to be expected. But trust me, Tracer, I'll be watching over you. I won't let anything bad happen to you. The soldiers are here to protect us and the researchers. Just in case. You'll be fine. We probably won't even need the blasters.”

The shuttle rocked as they landed. The nearby foot soldiers began to unclasp their restraints and ready their weapons. Mercy reached for her medic bag and slung it over her shoulder. The shuttle door began to open. A beam of white light cut through the craft's interior and the room seemed to inhale a cloudy breath of dust. The team stepped into the blinding midday sun. Mercy threw up a hand to protect her eyes.

“How far is our objective?” she shouted over the shuttle's droning engines.

“About four miles,” Tracer replied, glancing down at the map on her holo-device. “Ready?”

“Ready as I suppose I'll ever be,” Mercy sighed as the shuttle door closed behind them.

  
The journey into the omnium core was surprisingly simple.. The team made quick progress through the twisted metal landscape without meeting a single Junker; a single living Junker anyway. But now they were in the heart of the city-like omnium. The hollow metal walls echoed with their cautious footsteps.

Tracer stepped closer to Mercy.

“It might seem like a bad cliché, but I feel as if we are being watched,” she said.

“It's just nerves,” Mercy reassured her. “There's nothing to worry about here.”

But they both felt it; the unseen eyes that followed them like hungry wolves in the dark. The quiet hush of wind that stole down the halls carrying with it the sound of whispers. Every clank, every ding, every small movement caught only by the corner of the eye sent chills down Mercy's spine.

Suddenly one of the guards called out a warning, “Behind us!”

The once silent mausoleum of an omnium exploded into chaos. A horde of Junkers pulled themselves out of shadowed nooks and crannies. They wielded an astounding array of crude metal weaponry, guns, and homemade explosives. The guards fired back, disabling and sometimes even killing, waves of the enemies.

Tracer darted through the chaos, a blue blur among the red mist of blood.

“Fall back!” she cried.

“We're surrounded!” screamed a soldier.

One of the researchers took a shard of shrapnel to the shoulder. Mercy was at their side in an instant. Tracer flashed back to the team, panting.

“We have to get out of here,” she said, her voice ragged with exhaustion. “There's too many of them, we'll never make it to the objective. Lay down suppressible fire, I'll lead the two researchers out of here. Mercy, follow me.”

Mercy nodded, noting the newfound confidence in Tracer's voice. The kid would be alright, she was a fast learner.

Just as the team began to move, a terrible explosion detonated somewhere unseen. The whole floor rippled with the shock, the metal walls tore apart and the ground shattered. Mercy cried out as the floor beneath her feet gave way.

She was falling... falling... falling.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

  
Mercy hit the hard ground with a painful jolt. Disoriented, she could hear her team shouting overhead, but they sounded distant and distorted. A thick cloud of black smoke was churning through the room, filling it with toxic fumes.

She clawed her way along the floor, coughing and choking.

“Tracer?” she choked out.

No response.

There was movement all around her, but she could hardly see through the fog of chaos. Her hand touched something soft, something warm. A body... a junker.

Instinctively Mercy checked for vitals. They were alive, but just barely.

“Hey!” she called to the silhouettes darting past her. “Help me! Your friend needs help!”

Forcing herself to her feet, Mercy grabbed the junker under his arms and began dragging him away from the toxic fumes. Her heel crunched a hand and looking down she saw another unconscious survivor. With a strained grunt she pulled the man out of the smoke and into a small, safer room. Then she went back for the second and while she was retrieving him, she saw a third.

The three junkers were incapacitated and unconscious. Mercy's nimble fingers worked quick to unlatch her medic's kit. Her mind was lost in a haze of duty. She moved quickly, completely intent on her work. She stopped the bleeding, bandaged the wounds, and administered specialized nanobots to help the internal healing process. It was rough work, her hands were soaked red, but she was proud.

She had been so caught up in the moment that she barely heard the approach of heavy footsteps. With a startled gasp she spun around and saw the biggest man she'd ever seen filling the doorway. She scrambled to her feet.

The junker was a colossus among men. Taller than her by more than a foot and a half, she had to crane her neck to look at his face. He had broad shoulders covered in scrap metal armor, wide hands, and thick arms. Shirtless, he sported a large tattoo over his robust belly. His face was covered by a gas mask resembling the visage of a pig.

He stared down at Mercy, his eyes hidden by the cold slate lens of the mask.

Mercy felt like a mouse cornered by a lion. Her fingers danced over the clasp holding her blaster, but she couldn't bring herself to draw her weapon, even now. The man seemed to watch her intently, but he said nothing. Instead, he pointed to the Junkers behind her. Four gold rings glimmered at his knuckles.

“You kill them?” His voice was a deep rumble.

Mercy shook her head and explained, “I'm a doctor. I didn't hurt these men, I- I stabilized them.”

Running footsteps echoed through the factory. The masked man held up a finger to where his mouth must have been. He turned around, his immense body filling the door frame completely. Someone approached at a trot.

“Roadhog, we got 'em on the run,” the panting man explained. “Couple dead but most escaped. Should we go after them?”

The large one, evidently called Roadhog, replied, “No.”

The other man made to argue, but his words were cut off by a long siren.

Roadhog turned back to the room. He pushed Mercy into the corner with a sweep of his massive hand. He then grabbed the other Junker survivors and carried them from the room. Mercy couldn't see the exchange, but she heard a mumbled order to get the men to safety. She realized with a jolt that Roadhog had hidden her from his fellow Junkers. She pressed herself further into the corner, hardly daring to breathe until she heard the others depart.

Roadhog remained.

“Come,” he said, his raspy voice wheezing through the filters of his mask. Without waiting for a reply he reached forward and pulled her from her corner. He picked her up like a small kitten and carried her from the room. Mercy struggled against his firm grasp, but it was to no avail.

“Please, let me go! Where are you taking me?” Mercy demanded.

“Safety,” Roadhog said.

The piercing shrill scream of the siren sounded again.

Mercy stopped struggling and asked, “What is that?”

“Danger,” Roadhog replied simply.

His answer startled Mercy into compliance and she allowed herself to be carried away. She didn't want to trust the Junker, but she didn't know if she had a choice.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked fearfully.

Roadhog looked down at her and cocked his head questioningly.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

He shook his head slowly, deliberately.

I believe him, she realized with a start.

The motion held such intensity, such regard, that she couldn't help but melt a little in his arms.

Navigating through the omnium without a map was like wandering through a labyrinth blind, but it was clear Roadhog knew his way around. A large blast hole created a door, and just outside was Roadhog's ride- a motorcycle as large an imposing as he was. He set Mercy down neatly on the seat and climbed on behind her.

The motorcycle rumbled into life and leaped forward. The sudden jolt threw Mercy back against Roadhog with a small cry of alarm. He wrapped his arm around her waist to anchor her to his bike. Together they tore through the Australian outback.

Mercy now understood what warning the siren had been screaming. An enormous cloud loomed on the horizon, billowing over the landscape and covering the outback with a hazy cloud of ash, dust, and radioactive fallout. It ate away at the clear sky, pulling rock, metal, and brush into its gaping maw.

Swallowing her fears, Mercy turned toward the road ahead. She leaned back against Roadhog, knowing that whatever happened now was out of her hands. She tried to relax, tried to give herself over to tranquility but the adrenaline coursing through her veins would not resign. Instead of fear it found a new outlet, one Mercy was not immediately aware of.

The bike rumbled below her like a deep slow purr. She could feel the power vibrate through her legs, up to her intimate areas. Her whole body was buzzing in a not entirely unpleasant way. For all the danger they were in, Mercy was surprised to find herself feeling safe in Roadhog's keeping. His thick muscular arm encircled her, protecting her. She was perched between his large thighs and pressed up against his belly. Regardless of the circumstances, it had been a while since she was this physically close to someone. It was...

A blush lit up her face.

What am I thinking!?

Glancing back again, she saw the storm tumbling after them like a herd of wild horses. It was closer now, licking at their heels. She whimpered at the sight of it and wondered how long Roadhog could continue to out-ride the storm. He either heard or sensed her fear as his arm gave her a comforting squeeze.

There was no denying what she felt. Now that she was aware of the thrum between her legs it was all she could focus on. Try as she might to turn her attentions elsewhere, they always seemed to return to the need her body was advocating. She squirmed a little and felt something press against her lower back.

Her blush deepened. Was that... was he... did Roadhog feel it too?

In her moment of confusion, Mercy barely registered that they had pulled up outside of a small house settled among heaping piles of scrap. The house had been heavily damaged from falling debris after the omnium's explosion, but the metal slabs had been expertly integrated into the house rendering it as beautiful as some modern piece of art. Roadhog drove directly into the open garage, kicked the stand of his bike, and dismounted. He grabbed the metal door and yanked it down, chaining it in place.

Mercy couldn't help but glance up at him as he pulled her off the bike and into the house. Maybe the stress of the moment had made her imagine an interest that didn't exist. But then again.. maybe not.


	3. Chapter 3

The little medic reminded Roadhog of the flighty birds that sometimes found their way into his workshop and got themselves stuck. Even without looking he knew his little bird was watching him with wary eyes, suspicious of every movement and action. The poor girl was scared out of her wits, that much was obvious. He knew it wasn't worth the effort to calm her nerves, he was a monstrous man, both in look an action. Besides, it was better this way. Better that she didn't let her guard down. This place was dangerous. He was dangerous. Still, she was his guest and life in an apocalyptic wasteland hadn't erased his common decency.

Gesturing to the worn couch he said, "Sit. Rest."

He meant it kindly, but his strong voice made it sound like a command.

It felt safer to move when he wasn't looking. When Roadhog turned his back to her and went to the small corner he used as a kitchen, Mercy slid over to the couch and perched herself at the very edge. The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, making her feel giddy and flushed. She watched Roadhog with trepidation and interest. She'd never seen anyone like him. He was huge, fat but muscled. Taller than anyone she'd ever seen, except for maybe Reinhardt.

Her mind wandered and before she could stop it, she pictured him on top of her. Dominating her. Ravishing and ravaging her. The thought filled her with a warm glow that visibly colored her cheeks. Bashfully, she turned away.

The storm crashed down behind the heavy armored door and encircled the house. Peering through one of the cloudy glass windows, Mercy could see the landscape being torn asunder by the wind. She had been lucky. But what about the rest of her team? She could only hope that they'd found shelter or made it back to base in time.

She heard Roadhog approach and sensed his gaze on her back. Although she had been invited into his home as a guest, Mercy felt like trespasser in dangerous territory. Roadhog not only owned the space, he dominated it with his formidable and sizable presence. Mercy closed her eyes, steeling her nerves. With a steadying breath, she turned around.

“You're... Roadhog, is that correct?” she asked, eager to make a personal connection.

He nodded without a word.

“Is that some sort of alias?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Then you can call me Mercy.”

He was holding a tray of tea and snacks. Definitely not what she had expected. He offered her some tea, which she gratefully accepted. He then set the tray on a nearby table and seated himself on the opposite end of the couch from her.

“Eat,” he said after a still moment of silence.

Her stomach fluttered and she knew if she took even a bite, her body would reject it immediately. But, not wanting to be rude, she poured herself another cup of tea and sipped at it daintily.

He seemed satisfied by that and leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. It was then that Mercy noticed a deep gash on his arm. Instinctively she reached for her med-kit. Roadhog perked up at the sound of popping clasps and looked at her suspiciously.

“It's just my doctor's bag,” she explained. “Let me patch you up. It's the least I can do.”

Tentatively she scooted closer and touched his shoulder, assessing the wound.

“It's not too deep,” she said, filling the silence. “If you'll let me, I'd like to close it up with a few stitches.”

Mercy internally cringed at her voice. Her bedside manner needed some work.

“Fine,” Roadhog replied. He uncrossed his arms and allowed Mercy to stitch up his wound. Her deft fingers worked quick magic. He barely felt the sharp curved needle thread through his torn skin and pull taut.

Mercy spoke softly as she worked, “I wanted to thank you for what you did. I'd probably be dead now if it weren't for you.”

He grunted in affirmation.

Mercy nervously chewed the inside of her lip until she tasted blood, reminding her to stop. She hated that she couldn't read his expression behind the mask. Her hands trembled as she pulled out a fresh rag from her bag and proceeded to clean the streaks of blood and dirt.

Roadhog watched as she worked, and quietly marveled at how gently she treated him.

Was it from fear? He wondered.

He found his mind wandering, wondering about his little companion. Mercy, that's what she called herself. And she certainly seemed to live up to that name. Without her, three of his friends- three of her enemies-could very well have lost their lives. She wore the uniform of a military medic, but she seemed too delicate for Junker territory. He wondered why she had come.

“You're too soft for this country,” he remarked.

Her lip twitched in a semblance of a smile.

“I go where I am needed.”

“Junkers don't need your help. Don't want it.”

She made a little sniffling noise, drawing Roadhog's attention to her soot stained face.

He took a clean towel from Mercy's open bag. Her immediate reaction was to flinch away from the rag in his balled up fist. A pang of guilt touched Roadhog's heart as he proceeded to brush away the layer of dust and grime. His finger skimmed her warm cheek, drawing a flush to the pale skin.

Mercy, intimidated by his size and statue, shivered and closed her eyes. His hand was nearly as big as her head, he could easily crush her skull in his massive palm. And yet... he was so careful with her. That thought brought the warm glow back to her loins and sent her heart fluttering.

She realized that although she was afraid, she wasn't afraid of him. Perhaps taming the man would tame her fear as well she thought, trying to justify the amorous feelings burning just beneath her skin.  
  
The contact emboldened Mercy. She ran her fingers down Roadhog's injured arm, tracing the curve of his bicep and the hard muscle of his forearm. She found his free hand and her fingers danced over his knuckles. Her stomach tied itself in painful knots of apprehension when she threaded her hand in his. Mercy knew she must be blushing again, and she hated herself for it.

By now Roadhog had an inkling of Mercy's feelings.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Mercy's bright eyes fluttered and her confidence faltered. Was she really so bad at flirting that he had to ask? Or... was it possible he was looking for consent?

She swallowed and replied, “You.” Then added sheepishly, “If you'll have me.”

He paused a moment in thought, then dropped the rag. His large fingers brushed her jawline, caressing the contours of her face.

Mercy took his hand and guided it downward. His fingers grazed the tender skin of her neck, brushed down her collar bone, and came to rest on the soft rise of her breast. He gave her a rough squeeze that drew a startled “Ah!” from her.

Her own hand slid over Roadhog's massive thigh and came to rest at the crotch of his pants. She could feel the slow and strangely frightening press of his arousal. She was an experienced lover, but she felt as if her advances were that of an awkward school girl. I'm a grown woman, she thought decisively. I know what I want... and I want him.

Mercy's fingers danced over his belt. The smooth cold metal of the buckle sent a shiver down her spine. The clattering of the opening clasp was her undoing; it always was. She fumbled with his belt and undid the fastening. The sound of the parting zipper sent a wave of pleasing warmth through her core. Her hand slipped into the confines of his pants and without much pretense she wrapped her fist around him. She stroked him slowly, feeling his desire swell and strain in her hand until her fingers could not longer close around him. Mercy felt her passions begin to overflow and soak through the thin fabric of her panties. Roadhog made a low, pleased murmur in his throat.

Her bright blue eyes glimmered with desire. Biting her lip, Mercy pulled off her shirt. In the back of her mind she was embarrassed by the ugly nude colored bra and was relieved when Roadhog made quick work to remove it.

A hand slid up her spine and pinched open the clasp. The loosened straps slid from her shoulders and she tossed the garment to the floor. The lure of her exposed breasts was impossible to ignore. Roadhog's strong and calloused hand squeezed the tender flesh, eliciting a soft moan from Mercy.

He fondled her with a firm grasp before continuing the line down her stomach. He circled her bellybutton playfully. Roadhog's hand went to her hip, grasped the elastic band of her pants, and pulled off both her stretchy tights and panties in one swift movement. Her breath came in short gasps. Mercy felt exposed and vulnerable but the thrill of it was a high of its own.

Roadhog's hand dipped between her thighs and touched the slick wet skin. Her body was exquisitely enticing. He coaxed another moan from her by teasing her nerves with feather-light touches. His thumb worked in agonizingly slow circles to stimulate her clit. Mercy's back arched in anticipation and her hips rocked, eager for more.

Kneeling before her, Roadhog tilted his mask up and kissed the sweet skin of her inner thigh. She couldn't see his face, just the nose of the gas mask resting on her navel, staring up at her with soulless eyes.

“Will you remove the mask?” she asked hesitantly.

“No,” he replied, and nipped her, hard.

With a sharp intake of air, Mercy tilted her head back and closed her eyes again.

Roadhog's wide flat tongue teased her with a sensuous dance along her inner thigh. His hands pushed her knees apart as his mouth worked its way towards the heat between her legs. His lips delighted over the soft folds of flesh, tasting her musky arousal. He pressed a finger into her core. Her muscles clenched around him.

Appetite growing, Roadhog stroked her inner walls with an expert touch as his mouth continued to work her over. Like a drawn bow, Mercy was taut and rigid. Her rolling hips seemed to implore him for more, but Roadhog knew she wasn't ready for him. Not yet. He kissed her, sucked her, pulled and penetrated her until Mercy cried out in exaltation. Her body throbbed with the intensity of climax. Bliss washed over her like a blinding white light, stealing away her senses for a momentary glimpse of heaven.

Roadhog pulled the mask back down over his face and withdrew from between her thighs. He watched her raptures and smiled in quiet satisfaction.

Mercy was panting. Her sleek body had a sheen of sweat. Slowly she was drawn back to the present moment. Her eyes fluttered open.

Roadhog was still kneeling at her feet but he was no longer crouched over her body. He sat up tall and straight, caressing her legs and skimming his fingers over her tender sex. He pulled her towards him. His hard desire twitched against her thigh.

Mercy writhed with a complex mixture of anticipation, fear, and overwhelming desire. His size frightened her a little, and for all she knew he could have been thinking the same thing about her. He was the largest man she had ever seen and the thought of his stretching her beyond anything she had ever felt was both terrifying and exciting.

Her legs spread wide. She was all his to do with as he wished.

He pressed right into her, slow and easy. Inch by inch he filled her. He was hardly moving beyond the heaving of his belly as he breathed. Mercy was on the verge of begging before he started to move. Roadhog's pelvis rocked with a slow increase of momentum. His hands gripped her ass firmly, helping to give him leverage as he thrust into her.

The Junker's potential for immense power was evident by the restraint he showed making love to Mercy. His breath was stuttered and uneven. He nearly crushed her under his weight as he wrapped an arm under her back and around her waist. Mercy's arms were around him, her nails leaving long jagged red welts down his back and sides.

The building pressure was at first warm and gentle, but as his passions surged it turned into something carnal and raw. Roadhog was relentless. He thrust hard and deep, losing himself in the fog of lust. His hips crashed against her. Mercy's whole body trembled and then after half a dozen thrusts she was spiraling back into the abyss. Everything disappeared. Her inner muscles clenched and ached with spent tension. Every ounce of her felt numb and alive, like she'd just jumped off a cliff and somehow survived.

Roadhog was close behind. A violent pleasure tore through him. His grip on Mercy tightened as he rode the erupting aftershocks of his release. As his blind passions subsided, he became aware of Mercy trembling is his arms. Her hands were in his hair, her mouth on his shoulder, biting hard against the residual pain.

He worried he had hurt her and looked over his delicate lady with a measure of concern. One of his huge hands wrapped around hers, the other went back to her face, tracing the small crease between her brows and searching for any evidence of doubt, regret, or fear.

Mercy felt weightless. She felt lost. But she managed to smile at him.

With a sigh of intense relief, Roadhog buried his face in the crook of her neck. He loosened his mask just enough to inhale the sweet scent of their love making, to drink in the smell of her skin and hair and burn it into his memory forever.

He lifted her carefully from the couch and carried her into the bedroom. Mercy snuggled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and stroking his chest affectionately. She was so tired, so spent, that the moment Mercy closed her eyes, she was asleep.

Roadhog pulled the blanket around Mercy and listened to the sound of her contented breathing mingle with the howl of the storm still raging outside. The day had taken an unexpected turn, but it was one he was grateful for.


	4. Chapter 4

  
Sometime in the middle of the night Mercy jolted awake. She sat bolt upright, clutching the blanket to her heaving breast. Her heart thundered in her chest and her breath came in short gasps. She felt small. She felt vulnerable. And she felt lost. For a moment she existed in a state of panic as her groggy mind struggled to remember where she was. The reality of her situation terrified her. Her friends were gone, possibly dead. She was alone with a man she didn't know. He could do anything to her and she was powerless to stop him. She didn't know his name. She didn't even know what he face looked like! And she only had a vague idea where they were... there was no one to help her.

Roadhog's voice rumbled like distant thunder, “Bad dream?”

Mercy flinched, swallowed, and caught her breath. Already the images of her nightmare faded back into the night. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and the memories of the previous day washed over her like a cool and sobering wave. She may not be safe per se, but Roadhog had hidden her from the other junkers, saved her from the storm, and invited her into his home. That had to count for something.

“Yeah...” Mercy admitted in a strangled voice. Cursing inwardly, she could tell by the way her voice cracked that she was close to tears.

Roadhog brushed his knuckles down her spine in a comforting manner.

“Let's get some air,” he said, rolling out of the bed.

“But the storm-” she began to protest.

“Over,” he cut in, pulling on a pair of pants from the floor.

Roadhog tossed a shirt at her. It smacked her in the face and fell ungracefully into her lap. The playful gesture drew a small smile to her lips as she slipped the garment over her head and slid out of bed. She felt a thick viscous wetness on her inner thigh and blushed at the thought of their earlier coupling.

Roadhog scratched his belly and pushed open the door to his makeshift balcony. The night was pleasantly warm, the air dry. There no sign of the storm that had raged over them just hours before. The sky stretched out like a dome of black velvet cloth encircling the earth, dappled and bedazzled by thousands of glittering diamonds.

Mercy padded silently up next to him. He felt her presence more than heard it. She was a gentle glow of warmth radiating against his arm.

“Oh it's... beautiful,” Mercy whispered, her head tilted up to the night sky.

“Yeah,” he replied, feeling a tinge of pride for his home.

Mercy threaded her hand in his and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I had a nightmare about yesterday's mission,” she confided. “I saw all those people hurt, killed. I relived the storm again. And you were there. But this time you weren't there to save me but to... hurt,” she trailed off, dropping her gaze.

He was surprised at how deep her words cut at his raw heart. But his rational mind reminded him that Mercy was a woman outside her element and she had no guarantee of safety aside from his own assurances. Roadhog squeezed her hand and said, “I would never hurt you.”

“I want to trust you, but I don't know who the man behind the mask is. I don't even know your real name.”

“Roadhog is who I am now. The face under the mask... is someone who died when the world went to hell.”

She was so close he could see the moonlight reflected in her eyes and when they shifted to look at him, he almost recoiled from the intensity of her piercing blue gaze. Even with a mask to shield his face, he felt as if she were peering into his very soul.

“Who were you before the war?” she asked.

“Mako,” he replied, the name sounding foreign on his tongue.

“Mako...” she repeated quietly. “What happened to you?”

“We fought a war to protect our home. We got the apocalypse. And everyone's left fighting over the ashes.” His jaw tightened and his hand rolled into a tight ball.

Mercy felt the tension reverberate through the tightening of his muscles. She kissed his clenched fist and said, “Thank you for telling me. In the field we are supposed to use code names to protect our civilian identities, but I want to tell you my real name. It's Angela.”

He glanced down at her. The strain in his arm melted away and his fist unclenched. Roadhog's large shirt hung casually off one of her shoulders and draped down past her knees. He found it endearing and there was a bitter sweet pang in his heart to know that she was his... but only for tonight. Tomorrow she would walk out of his life and disappear into the intangible realm of memory.

He touched the side of her face with gentle caution. She was so beautiful, so radiant. Mercy... Angela... had almost a heavenly glow about her. She reached up to him, her fingers dancing along the edge of his mask.

“Please...?” she whispered.

Roadhog leaned down towards her, allowing her to unclasp the bottom buckle and roll the mask up just enough to reveal his mouth and the stubbled, pocked, and scarred skin of his chin. His was a face sculpted by a life of hardship. Roadhog's arms went around her, pulling her close to his chest and pressing her to his heart.

Mercy closed her eyes and kissed him.

This show of tenderness made him feel vulnerable, made him feel weak. Mercy had so easily penetrated the barriers he had erected around his heart and yet it beat with a soft spot for her. It was a weakness that could be exploited, but one he eagerly indulged in.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered and his defenses fell completely. He lifted her up and carried her back into the house where he made love to her again, first with his body and then with his voice. The two talked until the early hours of the morning when sleep finally pulled them both into its warm and comforting embrace.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

It was late morning by the time Mercy awoke. She found herself curled in the deep crater in the mattress left by Roadhog's large body. Drowsily and dreamily, she pulled a pillow to her face and inhaled his scent. A moment later Roadhog himself entered the room.

Mercy felt her cheeks redden in an awkward flush as the absurdity of the situation hit her.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

Roadhog lifted a hand in greeting and set down the tray he was carrying. He offered her a cup of tea and a heaping plate of eggs, waffles, and turkey bacon, then handed her the clothes draped over his arm. Mercy couldn't help but smile at the Junker's hospitality.

“Thank you, this looks fantastic,” she said, greedily devouring the meal.

At her beckon he sat down next to her on the side of the bed. The whole mattress sank under his weight. Roadhog wrapped an arm around Mercy's waist and watched her eat with satisfaction. He secretly delighted in the way her lips wrapped around the fork as she pulled it from her mouth. He loved the movement of her slender neck as she swallowed. But his favorite thing was watching her taste and savor the flavor of the food he had so lovingly prepared for her.

After scraping the last few bites from the plate, Mercy leaned her head against him and sighed contentedly. Then a thought hit her and she was suddenly awash with guilt.

“Where did you get all this food from?” she asked, remembering the reality that outback was generally a stark wasteland.

“Government air drops of aid packages,” he replied, wiping away a crumb at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh,” she replied, thinking it over. “And that's enough to sustain you out here?”

Roadhog nodded.

After she had finished breakfast and dressed herself in yesterday's dirty clothes, Mercy followed him outside to the waiting motorcycle. He helped her up then mounted behind her. As the engine roared to life, Mercy was greeted by the familiar rumble between her legs. Cursing quietly, her body reacted predictably to the deep vibrations. She tried to focus on the blurred landscape whipping by in tones of red and orange, but her mind kept returning to the ecstasy of the night before.

Roadhog moved a hand to her stomach and pressed Mercy against his big body. He held here there, letting her feel his arousal throb against her back.

So he feels it too, Mercy thought.

She reached slowly behind her and grabbed him through the thick fabric of his pants. Roadhog grunted, a harsh noise that was no doubt pleased by the attention. She massaged and fondled him, teased and toyed with him until he could take it no more.

Roadhog brought his motorcycle to a screeching halt. He kicked back the stand of his bike and let it rumble idly between their legs.

“Lose these,” Roadhog grunted, pulling at the hem of her pants. Mercy was quick to wriggle out of them.

She felt a thrill surge through her as Roadhog took her hands. He curled his fingers around hers, guiding her to grip the bike's handles. The position forced her back to curve and push her butt backward against him. It also allowed the rumbling bike to purr against her in a more direct way. Mercy bit her lip and let out a purr of her own.

“Ride,” he growled.

Mercy began to rock her hips slowly forward and back. She pressed herself down on the bikes hard seat, feeling the vibrations stir through her.

Roadhog watched her dance from behind. He loved seeing Mercy pleasure herself on his ride. His own lust throbbed achingly in his pants, a demanding need that he had difficulty controlling. But there was no time for that. Mercy needed him now more than he needed her.

Her thighs began to quiver from the grinding friction. She was close, but she required more.

“Roadhog,” she whimpered, casting him a pleading glance over her shoulder.

He was all to happy to oblige. He moved the thin black fabric of her panties aside. She was wet and aching; he could feel her body clench around him as he slid a finger into the warmth of her body. Mercy continued to ride, her back arching, her hips rocking. After a few strokes he pushed a second finger inside. Her slick body engulfed his fingers effortlessly. She pushed back with a moan, driving his digits deep within her.

As her pleasure reached its peak she went rigid, contracting around his fingers in a rippling sequence of moans and pulsations. His finger lingered inside to feel the wake of her orgasm ebb away.

His hand, still slick with her aroma, went back to the handle bars. He kicked the bike into gear and took off roaring through the outback.

Mercy watched the landscape blur by like a melting painting, but she didn't really see it. She wanted to savor her last few minutes with Roadhog and all her focus was on the feeling of his vast body pressed against hers, the sound of his beating heart when she lay her ear to his bare chest, the comforting feeling of his strong arm circled protectively around her.

Roadhog brought the bike to a halt within sight of the Overwatch base camp. The ground was flat for as far as the eye could see, and the base was a good three mile walk. But Mercy knew Roadhog had brought her as close as he dared. Any closer and he might register as a hostile on the radar.

They both stared into the distance, knowing this was the final goodbye. Roadhog was seized by the mad desire to ask her to stay but the sheer absurdity of the request stalled it in his throat. No. He was a criminal, a killer. His world was a hard one and he could not guarentee her safety. It was better this way. Better she go back to her own people.

Mercy slipped from the bike. Her legs still quivered but she managed to pull on her pants.

“I guess this is it,” she said after a horribly awkward moment of silence. She had the sudden desperate need to leave him something tangible to remember her by. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the only thing she had to offer- a small keychain. She popped it off the rest of her keys and pressed it into his hand.

“To remember me by,” she explained.

Roadhog nodded and took her face in his hands. He pressed the snout of his mask to her forehead affectionately.

Mercy swept her fingers over his large knuckles and whispered, “Take care of yourself.”

She smiled up at him one last time, then turned and started walking towards the Overwatch camp.

Roadhog watched her go until he was sure she had made it safely back to her people. When she was out of sight he looked at the gift she'd left him. It was a rubber embossed keychain featuring some cutesy character. It looked like a turnip with tentacles. The strange thing made him smile under the mask. He pocketed the gift then he turned his bike around and headed home alone.


	6. Epilogue

  
“Mercy! Is it really you, love?” Tracer asked, throwing her arms around Mercy's neck.

With a small laugh Mercy replied, “Yes, it's really me.”

“I was sure those Junkers had finished you off! Either that or the storm.”

“No, I'm fine. How about you? Did everyone else make it out alive?”

“We lost a few to the Junkers, but luckily we made it back to base before the storm. But where did you come from? How on earth did you survive?”

Mercy smiled with a slight blush and said, “One of the Junkers saw how I helped his friends and led me out of the storm. It's good to be appreciated.”

Another doctor, dressed and prepped, popped his head into the room and said, “We're ready for you in surgery.”

“Thanks. I'll be there in a moment.”

Tracer cocked her head wonderingly. “Back on the job already? Do you ever take a break?”

“It's not a luxury most field medics enjoy,” Mercy replied.

“Right-o, you run along then Mercy. I look forward to our next mission together!”

Mercy smiled and waved goodbye before turning back to the task at hand. She rushed with the other doctor down the hall. Her patient's wailing screams echoed down the corridor like the howl of a rabid animal. Mercy felt the hairs on her neck bristle.

“Hand me the file,” she ordered, her professional demeanor returning. Mercy glanced down at the clipboard and read:

Jamison Fawkes, alias 'Junkrat'.

“I thought you said the patient was prepped and ready?”

“H-he was!” stammered the other doctor.

Together they burst into the room where three orderlies were attempting to restrain a flailing young man, no more than a gangly teenager by the look of it. He was shouting obscenities and flinging around his badly damaged arm, spraying the room with blood.

“Get off me! Get off me you damned- I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you if you try to take my arm!”

A sudden cry of alarm rippled through the attending staff. The young man had pulled a small bomb from one of his pockets.

“Mr. Fawkes,” Mercy shouted, her tone sharp.

He paused, but only for a split second.

“I'll blow this whole place up, I swear it!” he snarled, looking around wildly at the ring of nurses. “Don't you touch me!”

Mercy made eye contact with one of the staff behind the mad bomber. She arched an eyebrow in a meaningful way. The nurse gave a little nod and reach slowly into the pocket of her apron. Mercy turned back to her patient. She stood as straight and tall as she could, making it clear that she was the one in charge here.

Junkrat eyed her warily, his thumb dancing lightly over the trigger button.

“Now, Mr. Fawkes,” she started.

“It's Junkrat!” he snarled back.

“Junkrat,” she corrected taking a cautious step closer. Mercy held out her empty palms to show him she was no threat. “Will you let me take a look at your injuries? You must have come here seeking help. I'm here to-”

The nurse took advantage of Junkrat's momentary distraction to jab him in the arm with a needle. Junkrat yelped, his device dropping. The room devolved into chaos once more as everyone made a mad dash for the detonator. The orderlies grabbed Junkrat and threw him roughly back down on the table. They made quick work to strap down his arms and legs, but that didn't stop him from trying to escape.

It wasn't long before the injection took effect. Junkrat's wild movement began to slow and he had a harder and harder time keeping his eyes open.

Once she was sure he was properly restrained, Mercy stepped forward to examine the arm.

Junkrat whimpered, his yellowed eyes scanning her face over and blinking slowly.

“Please, doc. Please don't take my arm...please...” he begged before slipping unconscious.

One glance at his bloodied mess of a hand told Mercy that she would have no choice. The wound wasn't fresh. It had been poorly bandaged and stank of infection. Three of his fingers were gone, the bones were shattered beyond repair, and no leaps or bounds in medical science could have saved the torn and bloodied limb.

Despite the youth's pleading protests, Mercy made the only call she could. The arm had to be removed.


End file.
